


And Now, The Weather

by SherlockianSyndromes



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, PTSD John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/pseuds/SherlockianSyndromes
Summary: There is a doctor in Night Vale, listeners.BBC Sherlock meets Welcome to Night Vale.





	And Now, The Weather

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Day 7 of the watsons_woes July Writing Prompts challenge.
> 
>  
> 
> _And Now The Weather. Involve the climate in some way._

John Watson was a long time listener of the public radio station in Night Vale. He’d listened to one show in particular for as long as he’d been a Night Vale resident, and that was the Welcome to Night Vale show, hosted by a mysterious man named Sherlock Holmes.

How and when John became a resident of this oddly harrowing desert community was still a mystery to him. He’d simply woken up inside his house one day and knew he was in Night Vale and that’s where he belonged.

Never mind the fact that just before he’d woken in his bed, he’d dreamt of being in a different desert, under heavy gunfire, a bullet penetrating his hip, bleeding out on the sand with no other doctor around to save him.

Sometimes his hip ached, though he had no scar or explanation as to why he’d been dreaming those things and why it had felt so real.

It was easy to put all of those unnecessary thoughts behind (and, let’s be frank, it was illegal to dwell on your dreams and John didn’t want the Sheriff’s Secret Police banging down his door), when Sherlock Holmes spoke through his radio into John’s living room. His baritone voice soothed John’s mind and brought him peace, even when Sherlock spoke of awful things like the dog park that didn’t exist, the glowing cloud hovering just outside of town, and the secret underground city below the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Fun Complex.

John sat in his favorite overstuffed chair (he had four of them in his living room, the only furniture he had besides his coffee table), and switched on the radio just as Sherlock’s show was due to start.

[“Regret nothing. Until it is too late. Then, regret everything. Welcome to Night Vale.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pb7Ca58twbs)

The opening music drifted through the air, and John closed his eyes as the dissonant notes faded, waiting for Sherlock to continue speaking.

“There is a doctor, listeners.”

John’s eyes flew back open.

“There is a doctor in Night Vale who doesn’t remember being a doctor. His hands do not shake, even when he is frightened, even when he walks by the dog park that doesn’t exist. He is stoic. He is brave. He has an invisible bullet lodged in his hip.”

John’s heart palpitated in his chest. Sherlock couldn’t be talking about him...could he?

“The thunder will bring him to me, Night Vale. If you’re listening - and I know that you are - it is vital that you come to the radio station immediately. Before the rain comes.”

John stood up from his chair, his breath coming in quick, short gasps. Was John the mystery doctor Sherlock spoke of? What if it wasn't him? What if Sherlock was just making all of this up?

John heard the first rumbles of thunder outside.

“Do you hear me, John? Before the rain comes. Get to the station.”

Sherlock paused. “And now, traffic.”

John took a step and a bolt of hot, searing pain ran up his leg, into the hip with the bullet buried inside of it (no, not real, dream bullet, dream blood, don’t dwell). He took another step and it hurt just as bad, if not worse.

He would need the cane.

John hobbled to the closet, opened the door, and fumbled in the dark for his dusty, cobwebbed cane. Another crack of thunder sounded.

Time to get going. He didn’t turn off the radio before slamming the front door behind him.

Outside, the wind howled, and John looked to the sky and found...nothing at all. Where there were normally stars or a singular glowing cloud or the lights that hovered above the Arby’s sign, there was darkness. John looked to the horizon only to see a bolt of lightning split the air. He needed to hurry if he was going to beat the rain. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he got caught in the storm, but John definitely knew he didn’t want to find out.

John didn’t think it strange that he knew his way to the radio station, though he’d never been. His hip blazed with unending pain, but he clutched onto his cane and limped down the street, turning on that corner, veering sharply down that alley, past the door to Dark Owl Records, past the smell of delicious wheat and wheat by-products wafting from Big Rico’s Pizza.

The thunder followed behind him, chasing him like prey through the streets of Night Vale. Electricity seemed to crackle through the air, making every hair on John’s body stand on end. His vision was beginning to blur. John reached up and rubbed at his eyes, only to find his face wet with tears.

Finally, John saw the radio tower, and a loud sob escaped his lungs. He reached the main entrance to the station and leaned heavily on his cane, the purple eye that was the logo of Night Vale Radio staring back at him.

He’d heard the stories about the station, of course. Dead interns. Monstrous management. John knew if he went through the door, his life might change forever.

And he was okay with that.

He pushed the door open and immediately escaped the stinging wind. As soon as the door shut behind John, the world was silent.

Except for a voice, coming from down the hall.

The cane clattered to the floor as John practically ran towards the sound. He came to a door labeled  _ Broadcasting Room _ and looked through the small pane of plexiglass.

He saw Sherlock Holmes. Tall, slender, dark-haired Sherlock Holmes. He looked quite ordinary, all things considered. His mouth was moving, and if John concentrated, he could have probably heard what Sherlock was saying, but all he could hear was the roar of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Sherlock looked up, piercing blue eyes spotting John on the other side of the door.

“Listeners. The doctor has arrived. It hasn’t started to rain yet. Let’s see what he has to say, shall we?”

John turned the doorknob and the door creaked open. He took a step inside and felt a warm familiarity, like this is where he’d belonged the whole time, before the war, before the dreams, before Night Vale.

He belonged with the man on the radio.

Sherlock continued to look at him, a happy smile forming on his face.

[“And now...the weather.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dD3yvEP2YgY)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this fusion! Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
